[GFS Exchange Fic] The Space In Between by abluegirl for milk_and_glass
Title: The Space In Between
Author: abluegirl
Written For: milk_and_glass
Prompt: Emma gets messy, Terri has to clean it up.
Pairing: Emma / Terri
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Spoilers: All of Season 2
Word count: 4400
Beta: dropsofviolet
Summary: Emma is working on getting better. She’s in therapy and taking her meds. The problem is, she’s still not okay.
She’s getting better.
That’s what she tells herself as she rips a clean, white paper towel from the roll with her rubber-gloved hand, runs it under the water from the filter spout beside her sink, and then uses it to wipe her gleaming kitchen counter. She takes care to scrub in-between the small appliances and jars on the counter, humming a little tune to herself as she works. Satisfied, she steps on the foot-pedal of her garbage bin, drops the paper towel in, strips off her rubber gloves and then turns to her sink to wash her hands in blistering hot water. She towels dry with another paper towel, then drops that paper towel in the garbage also.
She moves into the living room, and lines up the remote controls so that they are perfectly angled on the coffee table. She goes to the bathroom and checks that the shower and sink are not on. She already checked once today, but everything must be done in pairs, always in pairs (definitely not three times because three is a bad number and she just can’t have incidences of three in her life otherwise everything will just be wrong, and she’ll need to start back over again).
She moves to the bedroom, and peeks in to see her bed perfectly made with hospital corners. The sight fills her with a sense of peace and she smiles before moving out of the room to grab the Swiffer from the hallway closet. She tucks a new dry cloth onto the broom, and then glides around her apartment, gathering all traces of dirt into one neat little pile, which she sweeps up with her little dustpan and broom and deposits in the garbage.
She washes her hands again.
She moves to sit on the bench by the entrance to her apartment, and slips her sexy (oh, but not too sexy, because she can’t be sexy because anything sexy is contaminated, and contamination must be avoided at all costs) shoes on her feet and slides her purse over her shoulder. She takes her wallet out of her purse and verifies that her ID is in the windowed pocket. She takes her keys from the keychain holder, and opens the door. She double-checks to make sure her keys are in her hand before she swings it closed. She locks it. Then she unlocks it and locks it again.
She takes her wallet out of her purse again, adjusts the placement of her ID and makes sure her credit cards are all in the correct place (a place for everything and everything in its place), before sliding it back in her purse and walking down the hallway to the apartment building’s exit. It’s on the same floor as her apartment, so she doesn’t have far to go. She’s heard that first-floor apartments are unsafe places for single women because rapists could break in (and oh, if one did, what would she do if a great nasty hulk of a man forced himself onto her and pried her legs open and put his disgusting thing into her?), but she doesn’t like elevators. So, she’s taking a small risk. She doesn’t let herself think about what could happen if somebody did break in, because if she did start thinking about it, she wouldn’t be able to stop and that road is one she’s trying to avoid these days.
She’s getting better, really she is. Before the medication and the therapy, her morning ritual would take three hours to complete. Now it only takes one.
She walks briskly to her car and presses the unlock button on her keychain. Her car’s lights flash brightly at her, and she presses the button again, imagining that her car is saying good morning to her. She loves her car. It’s a Volkswagen Beetle, lime green, and such a cute wee thing that she just feels happy when she drives it.
She gets in and flips the driver’s-side visor down to check her appearance in the mirror. Her hair is perfectly coiffed, her makeup perfect and precise. She smiles, exposing her teeth, pleased to find them clean and shiny. She flips the visor back up again and puts her key in the ignition. Before she puts her car in reverse, she flips the visor down again, checking one last time.
It’s not that she’s vain. She’s just very conscious about how she’s perceived.
It is the weekend, but she still has a rigid schedule to maintain. She needs to put gas in her car, buy some new towels because the ones she has now have been laundered twenty times ( that’s her limit when it comes to her bath towels because there’s only so many times a girl can dry herself off with a towel before it is contaminated), go to the pharmacy to file the renewal for her meds, visit the local organic grocer, and buy some new shoes because she’s been doing better lately and wants to reward herself.
She stops at the gas station first and rolls down her window to talk to the attendant. She wrinkles her nose when he leans against the side of her clean, shiny car and asks him to put forty dollars of gas in the tank. He goes to fill it and she reaches into her purse to pull out three crisp bills (a ten for a car wash as well), and then sits primly with the bills her lap as she waits for him to fill the car. She always pays cash when she buys gas, because you never know what those dirty gas station attendants have been touching and she definitely wouldn’t want them handling her credit cards.
She double-checks that she has three bills in her hand before she hands them to the attendant, requests the car wash, and then makes her way over to the car wash entrance. A sense of peace descends upon her as she guides her car into the car wash’s conveyor belts and puts it in neutral. She relaxes back into her seat and closes her eyes, listening as the car is sprayed with water and foam, removing the grime from the attendant along with the dirt that accumulates on her commute to work. The sound of the car wash is soothing and the movement on the conveyor belts is rhythmic and she is lulled into calm by the time she reaches the entrance and has to drive out into the bright sunlight once more.
Once the conveyor belts let her go, she puts the car in drive and makes her way to the gas station’s exit. She double-checks that there are no cars before she turns into the right-hand lane and then makes her way to her next destination.
She stops at a red light, waiting to turn left at a busy intersection. There was a time that driving terrified her because she couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if she drove through a red light and into an intersection, or if she crossed a median and drove into oncoming traffic, or if she veered off a highway into a guardrail. There was a time when she couldn't stop thinking about car accidents and their possible consequences and it was paralyzing. Thank goodness she lived close enough to work that she could walk if she really wanted to.
But she’s getting better, and she’s been able to drive more frequently lately. She thinks that the meds have been doing their work because now she’s able to acknowledge these unwanted thoughts and dismiss them rather than obsess about them. She’s proud of herself, and the best thing is that she’s doing it for herself, not for Will or Carl or anybody else.
She reaches her next destination, Sheets’N’Things, (where Will’s harpy of an ex-wife works, and she wouldn’t come here if she didn’t need to, but they carry her favorite brand of super soft plush towels and why can’t this town get a Bed Bath & Beyond like all normal places because then she wouldn’t need to go here and think about Terri and how she and Will used to be together and how they used to do that and what did he ever see in her any way? Emma is so perfect and pristine.) and retrieves her purse before getting out of the car.
She slides her purse over her shoulder and walks to the store, stepping daintily around the puddles that formed during the recent rainstorm. Her shoes are too pretty to get wet. She skirts around a spot of gum on the pavement and avoids the cracks with neat, even steps.
She’s halfway to the store’s front entrance when it happens.
“Oh!” she exclaims when something wet and warm hits her forehead, quickly sliding down between her raised brows to the bridge of her nose. She stops in her tracks, her mind turning the possibilities over. She looks up at the sky and sees no clouds, so it can’t be raining. The only things up there are birds, circling the parking lot in search of discarded food.
Oh.
Oh.
She quickly draws in her breath and crosses her eyes as she tries to look at her nose. Her nose looks blurry, but it is definitely covered in something white.
“Oh!” She says again, louder this time. “Oh my-”
And suddenly she cannot talk. Her breaths come in rapid succession until she is hyperventilating in the middle of a parking lot with bird guano on her face. She cannot move and her mind is caught in an infinite loop (I’m contaminated. I’m not clean, I’m not perfect. I’m contaminated. I have to get clean, I have to be perfect, it’s on my face. Oh my god, it’s on my face. I’m contaminated. My face is dirty, I’m never going to be clean again. It’s on my FACE.) until the loud, insistent honk of a car breaks her trance, and she turns toward it with wide eyes.
Behind the wheel of a Mazda 3 is Terri Schuester, and she looks infuriated. Terri lays on the horn again, holding it down to blare one loud, intrusive and horrible note until Emma jumps and moves out of the way. Terri gives her a look (she’s seen the same, exasperated look directed at Will before, she knows that look, it’s the look that means, “What are you doing, you idiot?”) and drives past her and turns sharply into the parking lot.
Then, Emma does move. She’s still hyperventilating, thankfully not so badly that she’s lightheaded. She doesn’t think that she’s going to faint this time, and that’s good, because how would that look, passed out in a parking lot with bird guano on her face? She makes her way across the parking lot, and sits on the bench just outside of Sheets’N’Things and opens her purse, pulling out her package of antibacterial Wet Ones. She tries to open it but her hands are trembling so much that she cannot, and the package falls from her grasp into her lap. She hates this, the way a panic attack makes her feel out of control of her body, mind and breath; she hates how it robs her of her dignity and the ability to think clearly.
She hears the sounds of jingling keys and heels on pavement, and she looks up with wild eyes to see Terri walking towards her. She’s embarrassed to be seen like this - her face dirty, her shoulders heaving as she hyperventilates, her hands shaking, and god now the tears are starting - so Emma is somewhat relieved that Terri doesn’t appear to spare her a glance from behind her dark sunglasses as she walks purposefully to the store’s entrance.
Terri walks past her, and Emma feels her chest tighten further and she’s sure the sound of her breathing is louder now and that her whole body is heaving with force of her breath.
Terri’s footfalls stop.
“Shit.” The word is uttered softly behind her, and the sound of Terri’s heels on the pavement start again as Terri comes toward her. Emma’s heart beats hard and fast in her chest because she saw. Emma is filthy and covered in bird guano and now tears are streaking down her cheeks and somebody saw and it had to be her of all people-
“Honey,” Terri’s voice is sweet kindness laced with condescension. “Are you okay?”
Emma blinks away tears and looks up, her shoulders and chest jerking as she struggles to control her breathing. “A- A bird-”
“Oh, sweetie!” Terri exclaims. “Did a bird shit on you? You know in some cultures that’s considered to be good luck. It’s supposed to mean good fortune is coming your way. You should be happy about that!”
“I’m not-” Emma takes a deep breath, trying and failing to control her words through her erratic breathing. “I’m not happy about it. It’s disgusting.”
Terri looks at her for a minute, as though assessing the situation. “Here,” she says, reaching for the package of wipes in Emma’s lap. “Let me.”
“You-” Emma starts, her eyes focusing on where Terri’s slender fingers are pulling back the seal of the wipes package. Gratitude floods through her suddenly, as well as confusion, and she feels her hyperventilation begin to subside even as the tears increase. “Why are you helping me?”
Terri shrugs and says, “You look like you needed it.”
Terri takes Emma’s chin in one hand and turns her face towards her. Terri’s fingers are dry, not at all sticky like some people’s hands are, and soft. Emma looks down to see that her nails are nicely manicured, with French tips, and she suddenly feels much better about Terri touching her. She doesn’t normally like to be touched, she hates it, but the fact that Terri obviously takes good care of herself makes it okay somehow.
“You know,” Terri says, as she gently strokes the wipe over Emma’s nose. “I’d give anything to have a bird shit on me. I mean, they’re supposed mean you’re going to get money or something, right?”
“I’d never heard that before,” Emma says, her breathing almost under control. She watches the way that Terri bites her lip as she folds the wipe over to find a clean side before bringing it to Emma’s forehead. Emma watches the wipe approach her face, and then says. “Wait!”
Terri’s hand draws back suddenly. “What?”
“Take a new one,” Emma says, offering the package. “That one’s already got bird guano on it.”
Terri smirks and tugs a new wipe out of the package. “You can say bird shit, you know. Swearing isn’t a bad thing, though I agree it is unladylike. But you know, when shitty things happens, sometimes it can feel good to swear.”
Emma manages a small smile. “I cannot believe that a bird shit on me,” she says. Then she giggles. “Oh my goodness, I never swear. But you’re right, that did feel good!”
Terri smiles back, wide and genuine, and Emma can’t help but like her just a little bit in this moment. She sweeps a clean wipe over Emma’s nose and forehead one last time, and then tosses the wipes into the garbage can beside the bench.
“Got any tissues in there?” Terri asks.
“Yes,” Emma says, sniffling as she pulls a package of Kleenex out of her well-organized purse. She takes one out and dabs at her wet face daintily, wiping away the tears until her face is dry. She’s sure that her face is puffy and red and there are likely dark smudges under her eyes from her makeup but at least she’s not covered in bird shit anymore, which makes the situation marginally better.
“There,” Terri says, pushing her own sunglasses off her eyes to rest on her head. “All better.”
Emma nods and runs her hands down her thighs, smoothing the fabric of her skirt. “All better,” she replies. She looks Terri in the eye, and for the first time she thinks she sees some of what Will used to see in her. “Thank you,” she says with as much sincerity as she can muster. “That was really awful.”
“Well, I couldn’t just leave you like that, could I? What kind of person would I be?” She puts her hand on Emma’s arm. “You wanna come in and splash some cold water on your face or something?”
Emma nods. “I’d like that.”
Terri stands, and walks into the store with her head held high and her heels clacking on the pavement. Emma follows quietly, her head tucked down, avoiding the gaze of the store’s employees and customers as she follows Terri to the rear of the store. She leads Emma through a large set of double doors towards the women’s washroom.
“My office is right down there,” she gestures, pointing down the hallway. “Come find me when you’re done and I’ll make you some tea or something, okay?”
Emma nods and smiles, her lips pressed tightly together, and then pushes the washroom door open with her shoulder. She braces herself and walks over to the mirror. Even under the harsh fluorescent lighting, her reflection isn’t as unpleasant as anticipated. Her forehead and nose are shiny (oh, and she’s itching to go home and scrub at her face until it is red and raw to remove the contamination, she really wants to, but she’s trying to fight it, trying so hard), and her eyes are reddened and puffy, but the damage to her makeup is minimal and there are only the faintest of smudges underneath her eyes.
She turns the tap on with her elbows and washes her hands thoroughly before touching her face, leaving the water on. She dries her hands with a paper towel, then retrieves another tissue from her purse, wetting it slightly before dabbing at the smudges under her eyes. She uses her concealer to cover up the remaining redness as much as she can. The outside she can fix. She can cover the flaws and the evidence that the anxiety attack ever happened in the first place. The inside is much more difficult to repair; it always is after an attack. Her mind is a haze - she feels as though she was hit by a ten-ton truck and the urge to crawl into bed to sleep for a day is strong.
She dabs a last bit of concealer on and stashes the small pot in her purse. Finally satisfied, she washes her hands again, turns the taps off with her elbows, dries her hands with a paper towel, and then uses that same paper towel to grasp the handle on the washroom’s door. Once out in the hallway, she throws the paper towel in a nearby garbage can, then looks down the hallway to where Terri’s office door is open.
She pauses and thinks about going through back those double doors, exiting the store and just going home to cry into her pillow, because this whole experience has just been horrific and embarrassing. Terri had been so unexpectedly kind to her, though, and tea does sound really nice.
She peeks around the doorway to Terri’s office, and Terri looks up from her computer and smiles. It is almost a warm smile, and Emma has trouble reconciling that smile with her preconceptions about the woman in front of her. Will had described her to him as a shrew who had manipulated him and trapped him in a bad marriage. Emma finds herself wondering what the unattached Terri is like, and finds herself wondering if they could be friends.
They do, after all, have things in common.
“Hey, come in,” Terri says, gesturing.
Emma gingerly skirts around boxes as she makes her way to the chair in front of Terri’s desk. There is a steaming mug of tea waiting for her.
“It’s nothing fancy, just Tetley. And I didn’t know what you liked in your tea, so I just put some milk in,” Terri says.
Emma nods and grasps the handle. “That’s fine,” she says, taking a sip. It is very hot still, and feels good going down. “Thank you for helping me with the-” Emma waves her hand at her face, unwilling to say the words.
“Oh, you mean the bird shit on your face? It was nothing, really.”
Emma tightened her grasp around her mug. “No, it was something. I get- Being dirty makes me feel really bad. I just- it’s not- I’m trying to get over it, but it’s hard.”
Terri looks sympathetic. “I bet it is. Anxiety attacks can be tough to deal with. Howard has them sometimes when he’s dealing with customers. I’m usually able to talk him down. I’m good with crazy people that way.”
Emma’s eyes widen. “Oh.”
Terri waves her hands. “Oh, no, no, no. I’m not calling you crazy. Okay, maybe a little crazy,” she says with a half-smile. “I’m just saying I’ve seen it before, is all.”
Emma manages a smile in return, because despite the fact that Terri just called her a little crazy, she’s almost sure Terri doesn’t mean it in a cruel way. Besides, she is a little crazy (and she can admit that now), so it’s not like Terri is wrong. “Well, I’m glad you were there to help.”
She looks around Terri’s office and registers its appearance for the first time. Terri’s desk is clear of clutter and it looks like most of the contents of her office have been packed away in the boxes that are strewn around the room. “Are you… packing?” Emma asks.
Terri sighs and looks down at her own mug. “Yeah,” she says, looking up again. “I’m moving to Miami. I’m going to be opening the new Sheets’N’Things there and build the store from the ground up. Not literally, of course. Like I would do manual labour with these babies,” she says, holding up one perfectly manicured hand for Emma’s appraisal.
“Miami,” Emma says, unsure of what else to say. “That’s nice. Do you have family or friends there?”
Terri shakes her head. “Nope. Just wanted a fresh start. There’s been too much drama in my life the past few years, and I think a clean slate will be good.”
“Oh.” Emma pauses to sip her tea, feeling conflicted about the news. “Listen, I’m sorry about what happened.”
Terri tilts her head to the side. “You mean how you went after Will even though you knew he was married to me?”
Emma feels her face heat up and she looks down at her lap, cursing her fair skin. “Yes. That’s what I want to apologize for. I feel bad about that, but I never meant for it go as far as it did. I’ve been talking with a- a friend about it lately, and I think I wanted him because he was married to you. He seemed safe. I didn’t really think I had a chance with him at all.”
“Well, our marriage falling apart wasn’t all your fault,” Terri’s brows draw together. “We had our own problems, too.”
“That whole fake baby thing,” Emma nods. “Yes, I heard about that.”
Terri snorts and almost giggles, and a feeling of relief floods over Emma at the sound. “Yeah,” Terri says. “The whole fake baby thing. Oh my god, I can’t believe I actually thought I’d get away with that. I mean, I look back now and go, ‘Wow, you were really nuts,’ you know?”
Emma smiles, and nods, because she does understand. Her disorder has caused her to do some pretty unusual things, and the worst part about it is that when she’s caught in her compulsions, she knows that what she’s doing makes no sense at all. “Yes, I do know,” she says, sipping her tea.
“Ah well,” Terri says, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s all bygones now, isn’t it? I’m moving to sunny, sunny Florida and you… well, I guess you’re staying here in Lima.”
“That I am,” Emma states, folding her hands neatly in her lap. She will be here in Lima, at McKinley High. She doesn’t think that she’ll ever leave, because she doesn’t like change and Lima is small and comfortable. It sometimes feels as though there is a buffer around Lima and the rest of the world, and Emma likes it that way. It keeps her safe.
“Anyway,” Emma says, rising from her chair to legs that are still shaky. She’s taken up enough of Terri’s time and her bed with its clean sheets is calling to her. “I better get going.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Terri looks at her questioningly. “You’re welcome to stay here for a while if you’d like.”
“No,” Emma says, gathering her purse. “I really should go. Thank you, though. You’ve been very kind.”
Terri gets up out of her seat and walks around to the front of the desk. She reaches toward Emma and touches her arm. “Alright. You take care, you hear?” Before Emma is completely prepared for it, Terri has gathered her awkwardly in her arms and is pulling her in for a tight hug.
“Oh!” Emma says in surprise, but she finds herself relaxing into the embrace despite its suddenness. Terri’s arms are wrapped around her neck and own arms make their way around Terri’s trim waist.
“Have a good life, Emma,” Terri whispers against Emma’s hair before letting her go.
Emma holds onto Terri’s hand for a brief second and meets her eyes, seeing a woman who is at peace and happy with the choices she is making to improve her life. It’s nice, she thinks, that Terri is taking steps to move on and attain happiness, and she holds onto that though, hoping to take some of this positive energy with her.
She thinks that under other circumstances, she and Terri might even have been friends. Emma’s not delusional, she knows that’s not ever going to happen now, but she does feel a kinship with Terri that hadn’t existed before. She suddenly finds herself missing a friendship that will never happen, and it makes her sad.
She gives Terri’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You too, Terri,” she says, smiling warmly.
She lets go, and turns to the door. Before rounding the corner, she turns to offer a simple “Bye,” and is met with a wistful smile and small wave in return. Emma walks down the stark, white hallway, taking care not to step on any lines. She pushes open the double doors to the sales floor, and walks out into the brash, colorful world beyond them.
She’s getting better. She really is.
//END
Author: abluegirl
Written For: milk_and_glass
Prompt: Emma gets messy, Terri has to clean it up.
Pairing: Emma / Terri
Rating/Warnings: PG-13
Spoilers: All of Season 2
Word count: 4400
Beta: dropsofviolet
Summary: Emma is working on getting better. She’s in therapy and taking her meds. The problem is, she’s still not okay.
She’s getting better.
That’s what she tells herself as she rips a clean, white paper towel from the roll with her rubber-gloved hand, runs it under the water from the filter spout beside her sink, and then uses it to wipe her gleaming kitchen counter. She takes care to scrub in-between the small appliances and jars on the counter, humming a little tune to herself as she works. Satisfied, she steps on the foot-pedal of her garbage bin, drops the paper towel in, strips off her rubber gloves and then turns to her sink to wash her hands in blistering hot water. She towels dry with another paper towel, then drops that paper towel in the garbage also.
She moves into the living room, and lines up the remote controls so that they are perfectly angled on the coffee table. She goes to the bathroom and checks that the shower and sink are not on. She already checked once today, but everything must be done in pairs, always in pairs (definitely not three times because three is a bad number and she just can’t have incidences of three in her life otherwise everything will just be wrong, and she’ll need to start back over again).
She moves to the bedroom, and peeks in to see her bed perfectly made with hospital corners. The sight fills her with a sense of peace and she smiles before moving out of the room to grab the Swiffer from the hallway closet. She tucks a new dry cloth onto the broom, and then glides around her apartment, gathering all traces of dirt into one neat little pile, which she sweeps up with her little dustpan and broom and deposits in the garbage.
She washes her hands again.
She moves to sit on the bench by the entrance to her apartment, and slips her sexy (oh, but not too sexy, because she can’t be sexy because anything sexy is contaminated, and contamination must be avoided at all costs) shoes on her feet and slides her purse over her shoulder. She takes her wallet out of her purse and verifies that her ID is in the windowed pocket. She takes her keys from the keychain holder, and opens the door. She double-checks to make sure her keys are in her hand before she swings it closed. She locks it. Then she unlocks it and locks it again.
She takes her wallet out of her purse again, adjusts the placement of her ID and makes sure her credit cards are all in the correct place (a place for everything and everything in its place), before sliding it back in her purse and walking down the hallway to the apartment building’s exit. It’s on the same floor as her apartment, so she doesn’t have far to go. She’s heard that first-floor apartments are unsafe places for single women because rapists could break in (and oh, if one did, what would she do if a great nasty hulk of a man forced himself onto her and pried her legs open and put his disgusting thing into her?), but she doesn’t like elevators. So, she’s taking a small risk. She doesn’t let herself think about what could happen if somebody did break in, because if she did start thinking about it, she wouldn’t be able to stop and that road is one she’s trying to avoid these days.
She’s getting better, really she is. Before the medication and the therapy, her morning ritual would take three hours to complete. Now it only takes one.
She walks briskly to her car and presses the unlock button on her keychain. Her car’s lights flash brightly at her, and she presses the button again, imagining that her car is saying good morning to her. She loves her car. It’s a Volkswagen Beetle, lime green, and such a cute wee thing that she just feels happy when she drives it.
She gets in and flips the driver’s-side visor down to check her appearance in the mirror. Her hair is perfectly coiffed, her makeup perfect and precise. She smiles, exposing her teeth, pleased to find them clean and shiny. She flips the visor back up again and puts her key in the ignition. Before she puts her car in reverse, she flips the visor down again, checking one last time.
It’s not that she’s vain. She’s just very conscious about how she’s perceived.
It is the weekend, but she still has a rigid schedule to maintain. She needs to put gas in her car, buy some new towels because the ones she has now have been laundered twenty times ( that’s her limit when it comes to her bath towels because there’s only so many times a girl can dry herself off with a towel before it is contaminated), go to the pharmacy to file the renewal for her meds, visit the local organic grocer, and buy some new shoes because she’s been doing better lately and wants to reward herself.
She stops at the gas station first and rolls down her window to talk to the attendant. She wrinkles her nose when he leans against the side of her clean, shiny car and asks him to put forty dollars of gas in the tank. He goes to fill it and she reaches into her purse to pull out three crisp bills (a ten for a car wash as well), and then sits primly with the bills her lap as she waits for him to fill the car. She always pays cash when she buys gas, because you never know what those dirty gas station attendants have been touching and she definitely wouldn’t want them handling her credit cards.
She double-checks that she has three bills in her hand before she hands them to the attendant, requests the car wash, and then makes her way over to the car wash entrance. A sense of peace descends upon her as she guides her car into the car wash’s conveyor belts and puts it in neutral. She relaxes back into her seat and closes her eyes, listening as the car is sprayed with water and foam, removing the grime from the attendant along with the dirt that accumulates on her commute to work. The sound of the car wash is soothing and the movement on the conveyor belts is rhythmic and she is lulled into calm by the time she reaches the entrance and has to drive out into the bright sunlight once more.
Once the conveyor belts let her go, she puts the car in drive and makes her way to the gas station’s exit. She double-checks that there are no cars before she turns into the right-hand lane and then makes her way to her next destination.
She stops at a red light, waiting to turn left at a busy intersection. There was a time that driving terrified her because she couldn’t stop thinking about what would happen if she drove through a red light and into an intersection, or if she crossed a median and drove into oncoming traffic, or if she veered off a highway into a guardrail. There was a time when she couldn't stop thinking about car accidents and their possible consequences and it was paralyzing. Thank goodness she lived close enough to work that she could walk if she really wanted to.
But she’s getting better, and she’s been able to drive more frequently lately. She thinks that the meds have been doing their work because now she’s able to acknowledge these unwanted thoughts and dismiss them rather than obsess about them. She’s proud of herself, and the best thing is that she’s doing it for herself, not for Will or Carl or anybody else.
She reaches her next destination, Sheets’N’Things, (where Will’s harpy of an ex-wife works, and she wouldn’t come here if she didn’t need to, but they carry her favorite brand of super soft plush towels and why can’t this town get a Bed Bath & Beyond like all normal places because then she wouldn’t need to go here and think about Terri and how she and Will used to be together and how they used to do that and what did he ever see in her any way? Emma is so perfect and pristine.) and retrieves her purse before getting out of the car.
She slides her purse over her shoulder and walks to the store, stepping daintily around the puddles that formed during the recent rainstorm. Her shoes are too pretty to get wet. She skirts around a spot of gum on the pavement and avoids the cracks with neat, even steps.
She’s halfway to the store’s front entrance when it happens.
“Oh!” she exclaims when something wet and warm hits her forehead, quickly sliding down between her raised brows to the bridge of her nose. She stops in her tracks, her mind turning the possibilities over. She looks up at the sky and sees no clouds, so it can’t be raining. The only things up there are birds, circling the parking lot in search of discarded food.
Oh.
Oh.
She quickly draws in her breath and crosses her eyes as she tries to look at her nose. Her nose looks blurry, but it is definitely covered in something white.
“Oh!” She says again, louder this time. “Oh my-”
And suddenly she cannot talk. Her breaths come in rapid succession until she is hyperventilating in the middle of a parking lot with bird guano on her face. She cannot move and her mind is caught in an infinite loop (I’m contaminated. I’m not clean, I’m not perfect. I’m contaminated. I have to get clean, I have to be perfect, it’s on my face. Oh my god, it’s on my face. I’m contaminated. My face is dirty, I’m never going to be clean again. It’s on my FACE.) until the loud, insistent honk of a car breaks her trance, and she turns toward it with wide eyes.
Behind the wheel of a Mazda 3 is Terri Schuester, and she looks infuriated. Terri lays on the horn again, holding it down to blare one loud, intrusive and horrible note until Emma jumps and moves out of the way. Terri gives her a look (she’s seen the same, exasperated look directed at Will before, she knows that look, it’s the look that means, “What are you doing, you idiot?”) and drives past her and turns sharply into the parking lot.
Then, Emma does move. She’s still hyperventilating, thankfully not so badly that she’s lightheaded. She doesn’t think that she’s going to faint this time, and that’s good, because how would that look, passed out in a parking lot with bird guano on her face? She makes her way across the parking lot, and sits on the bench just outside of Sheets’N’Things and opens her purse, pulling out her package of antibacterial Wet Ones. She tries to open it but her hands are trembling so much that she cannot, and the package falls from her grasp into her lap. She hates this, the way a panic attack makes her feel out of control of her body, mind and breath; she hates how it robs her of her dignity and the ability to think clearly.
She hears the sounds of jingling keys and heels on pavement, and she looks up with wild eyes to see Terri walking towards her. She’s embarrassed to be seen like this - her face dirty, her shoulders heaving as she hyperventilates, her hands shaking, and god now the tears are starting - so Emma is somewhat relieved that Terri doesn’t appear to spare her a glance from behind her dark sunglasses as she walks purposefully to the store’s entrance.
Terri walks past her, and Emma feels her chest tighten further and she’s sure the sound of her breathing is louder now and that her whole body is heaving with force of her breath.
Terri’s footfalls stop.
“Shit.” The word is uttered softly behind her, and the sound of Terri’s heels on the pavement start again as Terri comes toward her. Emma’s heart beats hard and fast in her chest because she saw. Emma is filthy and covered in bird guano and now tears are streaking down her cheeks and somebody saw and it had to be her of all people-
“Honey,” Terri’s voice is sweet kindness laced with condescension. “Are you okay?”
Emma blinks away tears and looks up, her shoulders and chest jerking as she struggles to control her breathing. “A- A bird-”
“Oh, sweetie!” Terri exclaims. “Did a bird shit on you? You know in some cultures that’s considered to be good luck. It’s supposed to mean good fortune is coming your way. You should be happy about that!”
“I’m not-” Emma takes a deep breath, trying and failing to control her words through her erratic breathing. “I’m not happy about it. It’s disgusting.”
Terri looks at her for a minute, as though assessing the situation. “Here,” she says, reaching for the package of wipes in Emma’s lap. “Let me.”
“You-” Emma starts, her eyes focusing on where Terri’s slender fingers are pulling back the seal of the wipes package. Gratitude floods through her suddenly, as well as confusion, and she feels her hyperventilation begin to subside even as the tears increase. “Why are you helping me?”
Terri shrugs and says, “You look like you needed it.”
Terri takes Emma’s chin in one hand and turns her face towards her. Terri’s fingers are dry, not at all sticky like some people’s hands are, and soft. Emma looks down to see that her nails are nicely manicured, with French tips, and she suddenly feels much better about Terri touching her. She doesn’t normally like to be touched, she hates it, but the fact that Terri obviously takes good care of herself makes it okay somehow.
“You know,” Terri says, as she gently strokes the wipe over Emma’s nose. “I’d give anything to have a bird shit on me. I mean, they’re supposed mean you’re going to get money or something, right?”
“I’d never heard that before,” Emma says, her breathing almost under control. She watches the way that Terri bites her lip as she folds the wipe over to find a clean side before bringing it to Emma’s forehead. Emma watches the wipe approach her face, and then says. “Wait!”
Terri’s hand draws back suddenly. “What?”
“Take a new one,” Emma says, offering the package. “That one’s already got bird guano on it.”
Terri smirks and tugs a new wipe out of the package. “You can say bird shit, you know. Swearing isn’t a bad thing, though I agree it is unladylike. But you know, when shitty things happens, sometimes it can feel good to swear.”
Emma manages a small smile. “I cannot believe that a bird shit on me,” she says. Then she giggles. “Oh my goodness, I never swear. But you’re right, that did feel good!”
Terri smiles back, wide and genuine, and Emma can’t help but like her just a little bit in this moment. She sweeps a clean wipe over Emma’s nose and forehead one last time, and then tosses the wipes into the garbage can beside the bench.
“Got any tissues in there?” Terri asks.
“Yes,” Emma says, sniffling as she pulls a package of Kleenex out of her well-organized purse. She takes one out and dabs at her wet face daintily, wiping away the tears until her face is dry. She’s sure that her face is puffy and red and there are likely dark smudges under her eyes from her makeup but at least she’s not covered in bird shit anymore, which makes the situation marginally better.
“There,” Terri says, pushing her own sunglasses off her eyes to rest on her head. “All better.”
Emma nods and runs her hands down her thighs, smoothing the fabric of her skirt. “All better,” she replies. She looks Terri in the eye, and for the first time she thinks she sees some of what Will used to see in her. “Thank you,” she says with as much sincerity as she can muster. “That was really awful.”
“Well, I couldn’t just leave you like that, could I? What kind of person would I be?” She puts her hand on Emma’s arm. “You wanna come in and splash some cold water on your face or something?”
Emma nods. “I’d like that.”
Terri stands, and walks into the store with her head held high and her heels clacking on the pavement. Emma follows quietly, her head tucked down, avoiding the gaze of the store’s employees and customers as she follows Terri to the rear of the store. She leads Emma through a large set of double doors towards the women’s washroom.
“My office is right down there,” she gestures, pointing down the hallway. “Come find me when you’re done and I’ll make you some tea or something, okay?”
Emma nods and smiles, her lips pressed tightly together, and then pushes the washroom door open with her shoulder. She braces herself and walks over to the mirror. Even under the harsh fluorescent lighting, her reflection isn’t as unpleasant as anticipated. Her forehead and nose are shiny (oh, and she’s itching to go home and scrub at her face until it is red and raw to remove the contamination, she really wants to, but she’s trying to fight it, trying so hard), and her eyes are reddened and puffy, but the damage to her makeup is minimal and there are only the faintest of smudges underneath her eyes.
She turns the tap on with her elbows and washes her hands thoroughly before touching her face, leaving the water on. She dries her hands with a paper towel, then retrieves another tissue from her purse, wetting it slightly before dabbing at the smudges under her eyes. She uses her concealer to cover up the remaining redness as much as she can. The outside she can fix. She can cover the flaws and the evidence that the anxiety attack ever happened in the first place. The inside is much more difficult to repair; it always is after an attack. Her mind is a haze - she feels as though she was hit by a ten-ton truck and the urge to crawl into bed to sleep for a day is strong.
She dabs a last bit of concealer on and stashes the small pot in her purse. Finally satisfied, she washes her hands again, turns the taps off with her elbows, dries her hands with a paper towel, and then uses that same paper towel to grasp the handle on the washroom’s door. Once out in the hallway, she throws the paper towel in a nearby garbage can, then looks down the hallway to where Terri’s office door is open.
She pauses and thinks about going through back those double doors, exiting the store and just going home to cry into her pillow, because this whole experience has just been horrific and embarrassing. Terri had been so unexpectedly kind to her, though, and tea does sound really nice.
She peeks around the doorway to Terri’s office, and Terri looks up from her computer and smiles. It is almost a warm smile, and Emma has trouble reconciling that smile with her preconceptions about the woman in front of her. Will had described her to him as a shrew who had manipulated him and trapped him in a bad marriage. Emma finds herself wondering what the unattached Terri is like, and finds herself wondering if they could be friends.
They do, after all, have things in common.
“Hey, come in,” Terri says, gesturing.
Emma gingerly skirts around boxes as she makes her way to the chair in front of Terri’s desk. There is a steaming mug of tea waiting for her.
“It’s nothing fancy, just Tetley. And I didn’t know what you liked in your tea, so I just put some milk in,” Terri says.
Emma nods and grasps the handle. “That’s fine,” she says, taking a sip. It is very hot still, and feels good going down. “Thank you for helping me with the-” Emma waves her hand at her face, unwilling to say the words.
“Oh, you mean the bird shit on your face? It was nothing, really.”
Emma tightened her grasp around her mug. “No, it was something. I get- Being dirty makes me feel really bad. I just- it’s not- I’m trying to get over it, but it’s hard.”
Terri looks sympathetic. “I bet it is. Anxiety attacks can be tough to deal with. Howard has them sometimes when he’s dealing with customers. I’m usually able to talk him down. I’m good with crazy people that way.”
Emma’s eyes widen. “Oh.”
Terri waves her hands. “Oh, no, no, no. I’m not calling you crazy. Okay, maybe a little crazy,” she says with a half-smile. “I’m just saying I’ve seen it before, is all.”
Emma manages a smile in return, because despite the fact that Terri just called her a little crazy, she’s almost sure Terri doesn’t mean it in a cruel way. Besides, she is a little crazy (and she can admit that now), so it’s not like Terri is wrong. “Well, I’m glad you were there to help.”
She looks around Terri’s office and registers its appearance for the first time. Terri’s desk is clear of clutter and it looks like most of the contents of her office have been packed away in the boxes that are strewn around the room. “Are you… packing?” Emma asks.
Terri sighs and looks down at her own mug. “Yeah,” she says, looking up again. “I’m moving to Miami. I’m going to be opening the new Sheets’N’Things there and build the store from the ground up. Not literally, of course. Like I would do manual labour with these babies,” she says, holding up one perfectly manicured hand for Emma’s appraisal.
“Miami,” Emma says, unsure of what else to say. “That’s nice. Do you have family or friends there?”
Terri shakes her head. “Nope. Just wanted a fresh start. There’s been too much drama in my life the past few years, and I think a clean slate will be good.”
“Oh.” Emma pauses to sip her tea, feeling conflicted about the news. “Listen, I’m sorry about what happened.”
Terri tilts her head to the side. “You mean how you went after Will even though you knew he was married to me?”
Emma feels her face heat up and she looks down at her lap, cursing her fair skin. “Yes. That’s what I want to apologize for. I feel bad about that, but I never meant for it go as far as it did. I’ve been talking with a- a friend about it lately, and I think I wanted him because he was married to you. He seemed safe. I didn’t really think I had a chance with him at all.”
“Well, our marriage falling apart wasn’t all your fault,” Terri’s brows draw together. “We had our own problems, too.”
“That whole fake baby thing,” Emma nods. “Yes, I heard about that.”
Terri snorts and almost giggles, and a feeling of relief floods over Emma at the sound. “Yeah,” Terri says. “The whole fake baby thing. Oh my god, I can’t believe I actually thought I’d get away with that. I mean, I look back now and go, ‘Wow, you were really nuts,’ you know?”
Emma smiles, and nods, because she does understand. Her disorder has caused her to do some pretty unusual things, and the worst part about it is that when she’s caught in her compulsions, she knows that what she’s doing makes no sense at all. “Yes, I do know,” she says, sipping her tea.
“Ah well,” Terri says, waving her hand dismissively. “It’s all bygones now, isn’t it? I’m moving to sunny, sunny Florida and you… well, I guess you’re staying here in Lima.”
“That I am,” Emma states, folding her hands neatly in her lap. She will be here in Lima, at McKinley High. She doesn’t think that she’ll ever leave, because she doesn’t like change and Lima is small and comfortable. It sometimes feels as though there is a buffer around Lima and the rest of the world, and Emma likes it that way. It keeps her safe.
“Anyway,” Emma says, rising from her chair to legs that are still shaky. She’s taken up enough of Terri’s time and her bed with its clean sheets is calling to her. “I better get going.”
“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Terri looks at her questioningly. “You’re welcome to stay here for a while if you’d like.”
“No,” Emma says, gathering her purse. “I really should go. Thank you, though. You’ve been very kind.”
Terri gets up out of her seat and walks around to the front of the desk. She reaches toward Emma and touches her arm. “Alright. You take care, you hear?” Before Emma is completely prepared for it, Terri has gathered her awkwardly in her arms and is pulling her in for a tight hug.
“Oh!” Emma says in surprise, but she finds herself relaxing into the embrace despite its suddenness. Terri’s arms are wrapped around her neck and own arms make their way around Terri’s trim waist.
“Have a good life, Emma,” Terri whispers against Emma’s hair before letting her go.
Emma holds onto Terri’s hand for a brief second and meets her eyes, seeing a woman who is at peace and happy with the choices she is making to improve her life. It’s nice, she thinks, that Terri is taking steps to move on and attain happiness, and she holds onto that though, hoping to take some of this positive energy with her.
She thinks that under other circumstances, she and Terri might even have been friends. Emma’s not delusional, she knows that’s not ever going to happen now, but she does feel a kinship with Terri that hadn’t existed before. She suddenly finds herself missing a friendship that will never happen, and it makes her sad.
She gives Terri’s hand a gentle squeeze. “You too, Terri,” she says, smiling warmly.
She lets go, and turns to the door. Before rounding the corner, she turns to offer a simple “Bye,” and is met with a wistful smile and small wave in return. Emma walks down the stark, white hallway, taking care not to step on any lines. She pushes open the double doors to the sales floor, and walks out into the brash, colorful world beyond them.
She’s getting better. She really is.
//END